The Halo eBook

And then, for the race was theirs, they watched the
sun creep up until he set the east on fire.

Brigit, her hat off, her eyes bravely set to the east,
stood motionless, and Theo, after saluting the risen
king, drew back so that he got her profile against
the sky and watched it.

She wore a short grey skirt and a grey silk shirt;
there was about her not one touch of colour except
for a beautiful pink the unwonted climbing had brought
to her cheeks. Theo realised how great a mistake
most women make in obliterating by bright tints the
natural colours of their eyes and skins.

“You are so wonderful,” he said suddenly.

She started, for there was in his tone something that
vaguely disquieted her. It was like his father’s
voice, and like his father’s when he was impatient
and superficially stirred.

“A wonderful person, am I not?” she laughed,
picking up her hat and putting it on, dashing a great
cruel-looking hat-pin apparently straight through
her brain. “I am also a hungry person, Theo.
Are we to have food? I suppose no one will be
awake for hours!”

It was indeed too early to hope for coffee, so they
amused themselves by wandering up and down the stairs,
throwing burning paper down the famous oubliette,
and crossing perilously narrow ledges hand-in-hand.

“So William was born in this horrid little room?
I don’t believe it!”

“On le dit. And down there—­see?
by the tan-yards, Arlette was washing clothes when
Robert the Devil saw her and fell in love with her.”

“Remarkably fine eyesight he must have had to
see enough to fall in love with!”

“Exactly. But that is the story. My
mother’s father was a tanner down there somewhere.
He was fairly well-to-do for his position, and father
was considered most audacious for aspiring to her hand!”

He laughed tenderly. “My dear old father!
I am so proud of him, dear love, I can’t express
it at all.”

“I know.”

“And I am proud of petite mere, too.
She was so brave and patient always, and he has led
her a sad life at times. They were desperately
poor, for her father left most of his money to his
other daughter, who married Jacques Colibris.
You must see my Uncle Jacques, he is quite delightful—­and
father was a gambler—­and so on. I can
myself remember one morning when he came in and told
her he had lost two hundred pounds, and that was a
fortune then.”

“She told me about those times,” answered
Brigit, slowly. “She is very dear and good.”

They were now going slowly down towards the town.
It was five o’clock, and the concierge’s
children were scampering about, uncombed, as they
passed the cottage.

“We’ll go to the Musee and knock up old
Malaumain,” declared Theo suddenly. “He
won’t mind, and she will give us a good dejeuner.
I could eat a horse.”